


just wanna get you high

by sambambucky



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Slice of Life, Weed, and they don't even do it in the fic, edibles, first fic, its been done, munchies, so my tag game is weak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-21 15:33:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20695871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sambambucky/pseuds/sambambucky
Summary: this is my fic fromthis prompt list, byleaf, that i found after readingthis fic38. Sambucky but they're just high.Exactly what is says on the tin.





	just wanna get you high

When Sam wakes up from the dead, his eyes are bleary and dry. And, okay, he wasn't actually dead, as far as he knows, but had been asleep so deeply he may as well have been.

The cheap wall clock says 7. But, is that AM or PM? Sam knows that it _ probably _should matter one way or the other, but he's not convinced that it does. The whole reason he’d been able to convince Bucky to get high with him was because they had nothing to do for the rest of the day, and Sam specifically was free all weekend. It's the first time their schedules line up like this in months, and they'd been eager to celebrate.

The first thing he thinks is that he should text Scott and see if he'll explain his theory on sleeping being time travel. Well, that's not true. 

The first thing he actually thinks is where the hell are his eye drops. Bucky might know where they are. Sam always makes fun of how red his eyes get when they get high together, so he'd taken to putting drops in his little weed accessory bag. His weed _ purse _, Sam corrects, smiling to himself. The cute bastard. Does he make fun of Bucky too much? maybe? Sam shrugs, and then luxuriates on the way his shirt slides against his skin when he moves. His basketball shorts slide almost lasciviously over the hairs on his thighs and he grins at the lingering euphoria.

Eventually he remembers he's still in bed, and probably not going to get relief for his eyes if he doesn't get up.

He doesn't even remember going to bed, can hardly recall being tired. Eventually, he slides his way out of bed and grabs his phone off the floor. He was pretty sure he was going to text someone. Or something.

Sam opens the door, and is comforted by dim lighting and moody instrumentals playing softly from the opposite corner. At first, he can barely make out Bucky’s figure where he’s standing in the kitchen. Sam watches him, hoping to catch him doing something embarrassing, but he's just standing there in soft clothes with his arms crossed. Sam doesn’t know how long the moment drags on before Bucky sighs, and then turns to lean against the counter. At the site of Sam in the doorway, he grins one of Sam’s favorite smiles. 

"If it isn’t mister 'I don’t feel anything I better take some more'," he greets with a mocking grin.

Sam flips him off but can't keep the fond grin from his face. It feels stuck there, a little. But he’s not complaining. He’d broken the first rule of edibles and eaten the rest of his cookie before waiting long enough to feel the effects of the first half. He remembers now, the anxiety building as his heart beat fast enough to distract him from the movie they had been watching. Bucky had given him a bottle of water and sent him to bed. 

Now, (hours or minutes later, Sam really can’t be sure) he takes his spot next to Bucky, and wraps his arms around his waist. And it _is_ _his_ spot, isn’t it? Sometimes Sam can hardly get over it. He presses a kiss to Bucky’s cheek, just because he can, and nearly melts when Bucky hums contentedly. It's as close to a purr as you can get without feline DNA, and Sam hones in on the sound with half-lidded eyes.

"Babe, what are you doing?" he asks, more to the pot of water in front of them than to the man himself. 

"I'm making ramen? Waiting for the pot to boil." 

"Oh, right," Sam squints at the still water, thinks of warm, salty soup, and chewy noodles and kisses Bucky’s cheek again. His penchant for mothering and mood setting is one of his best traits. Bucky puts his arm around Sam’s shoulders, and he remembers that Bucky’s list of best traits is a mile long.

"You know what we should have for dessert?"

"What's that?" 

"Poptarts," Sam says seriously. Bucky’s eyes go wide and flick from Sam's face to the cupboard next to them. 

"That's a great idea," he whispers excitedly. Thor isn't there to hear them plan to steal his food, but that doesn't stop Sam from extracting the foiled pouches from the cupboard like they're in a heist movie. 

He frees two pouches of two different flavors them from their boxes without making a sound and Bucky rewards him with a kiss. They give each other slow motion high fives, then Sam has to put his hand over his mouth to keep from laughing too loud. 

They put both strawberry into the toaster, check the settings twice, and wait. Or, Sam waits. Bucky turns back to his burner like he can will the water to boil faster with loving attention. 

They fall into a quiet moment, the music playing from the living room making Sam feel like he’s in a movie. He blinks slowly, letting his thoughts pass idly through his head while he waits for his pastries. His eyes stay on the toaster even as his mind wanders with abandon. The red lines of the heating wires peak out and gently sear his vision. Has anyone ever gone bline from staring into electric currents, he wonders. How hard is it to go blind, really? If he stares at the sun for a full day, would his vision just fade away? What does it even _ look _ like when -

They both jump when the toaster pops their food up, then dissolve quickly into giggles. 

"That scared the shit out of me," Bucky says around quick breaths, hand on his chest. That makes Sam laugh harder, earning him a shove that nearly knocks him over. Sam eventually rights himself enough to get a plate for their treats, still chuckling despite himself. With the food on the counter, he remembers the water, then squints at Bucky's face.

"How long have you been waiting for the water to boil?"

"Like an hour, I think it might be broken."

"Did you even turn it on?” Sam mostly jokes, taking a bite out of his first Poptart. 

"Hm," Bucky tries to remember, taking Sam's poptart out of his hand and biting the other side just the way Sam hates. 

Sam gives him his best unimpressed glare and takes another bite as Bucky grins back at him. It’s sickening, really, how much Sam loves him. His chest feels like it’s going to burst in moments like this - where they tease each other with such open warmth. Sam swallows his bite and presses his lips to Bucky then, sure that the quick press of lips is enough to get the point across. 

When Bucky pulls back, he lifts the pot with one hand and hovers the other above the burner. He frowns, a little pinch between his eyebrows, and Sam starts to laugh. Bucky narrows his eyes at the switches on the stove, running his fingertips over the plastic like he can’t believe they’re all off. He finally turns the dial for the burner he’d been waiting for, and after a few moments it turns orange, glaring at the both of them. Bucky looks up at Sam then, a pout on his face. Sam barks a laugh that hurts his stomach. Bucky never turned the stove on, and Sam can’t stop laughing at his indignant pout. It hurts his ribs, and he wraps his arms around his middle.

“Okay,” Bucky ignores him, adjusting his hair and apron, “It wasn’t on. But! I can turn it on and make… something else? Oh, Sam. We should make _ breakfast _.”

Sam pants, now grinning at the growing excitement on Bucky’s face, forgets completely about the ramen, “Bacon and Eggs?”

“Poptart sandwiches!” Bucky says, already pulling out a pan and making a great show of adjusting the burner.

Sam grabs his wrist and pulls him in for another kiss. It feels like it’s been forever since he’s gotten his lips on Bucky’s mouth properly, and the soft warmth of it is intoxicating. Bucky indulges him, kissing deeply and dragging his hands up Sam’s sides. Every place they touch sends happy little sparks to Sam’s brain, and he closes his eyes in enjoyment. Bucky pulls away just as their breath picks up and Sam goes to get his mouth on Bucky’s jaw.

“Hey,” Bucky breathes, laughing a little, “Keep that up and I’ll burn the house down.”

“Apparently you couldn’t burn anything even if you tried,” Sam smirks, pressing his hip to the counter.

“Shut up and get the eggs, would you?”

Sam does, but in the face of the cool air and bright light of the fridge, he remembers his dry eyes. “Hey where’s your purse, baby, my eyes are killing me.”

Bucky rolls his eyes and starts cracking eggs, “On the couch I think.”

Sam presses a kiss to Bucky’s cheek and goes to plop down next to the little plum-colored fanny pack on the couch. He grabs the drops and lays down to put them in. Drop by drop, it’s like an electric current of relief into his eyes. Sam blinks rapidly, enjoying the cool salve, and then rolls onto his side and turns the TV on, turns it almost all the way down. He takes a deep breath and sinks impossibly deep into the couch. A second breath and that’s a wrap, Sam feels bracketed on all sides by plush coziness, and has no desire to get up ever again. 

“You all good in there?” He calls out, completely unwilling to help if the answer turns out to be no. Bucky laughs affectionately and tells him it’s almost done, and Sam wishes he could bottle this feeling of soft contentment to keep around for tougher days to come. 

He scans through Netflix aimlessly, waiting for something to jump out of him, and getting lost in the rhythm of pressing the same button repeatedly. Somehow (and to the surprise of no one in this apartment), he ends up watching another episode of Planet Earth. This one’s about frozen places and how creatures manage to survive, and Sam gets lost in the blues and whites.

“Bon app the teeth, _ solnyshko _,” Bucky says later, handing Sam a plate with a prettily laid out sandwich with fluffy eggs and crispy bacon laid in between two poptarts.

Sam forces himself upright, Bucky sits with his thigh hooked over Sam’s, and they they eat tangled up in each others’ limbs. They feed each other bits of bacon and poptart pieces with fluffy egg on top, washing it down with tap water that’s cold all the way down. It’s a lot more sickening cuddles and playful touches than eating, and Sam would be annoyed with them if he wasn’t enjoying it all so much.

“You should cook more often,” Sam says when put their empty plates on the table.

“I cook all the time you ungrateful bastard,” Bucky laughs, pushing Sam down into the couch and kissing him.

“And I say _ thanks _every time. You could still do it more,” Sam grins, moving them until Bucky is fully on top of him. 

“What’re you gonna do for me if I become your in-home chef, huh?” Bucky nuzzles Sam’s neck and takes nips at his pulse point. Each spike of feeling burns hot on his skin in bright bursts. Sam’s breath hitches and he puts his hands on Bucky’s face.

“Bucky,” he smiles when they finally make eye contact again, “I’d do anything for you.”

“Oh god,” Bucky whispers incredulously, holding himself up over Sam on his forearms, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Sam responds easily, and presses his lips to Bucky’s mouth. They kiss easy and slow, hardly able to keep contact between their wide smiles and giggles until Bucky accidentally licks an uncoordinated line across Sam’s cheek and they laugh themselves fully apart. 

They lazily shift around positions until Sam’s lying on the couch with Bucky between his legs, against his chest. Bucky let’s down his mess of a bun. He reaches over to turn the tv up a bit, and settles down into an extremely familiar routine. Sam grabs Bucky’s weed purse and pulls the small brush from it. He presses a kiss to the top of Bucky’s head, then starts gently detangling his hair. It’s hypnotising, Sam barely has to work at any knots, barely paying attention to where he’s brushing. 

Sam blinks slowly a few times, mesmerized by the rhythm of their breathing and the sweeping nature shots on the television. He’s wedged in a permanently cozy position, half upright against the armrest. Bucky fits against him like he always does, heavy on his chest, fitting into Sam’s body like a jigsaw and warm everywhere.

Bucky looks up at Sam everytime they pull out to a spectacularly breathtaking view, and grins at him like _ are you seeing this? can you believe that? _ Sam decides it's one of his top three favorite expressions on his boyfriend. plants a kiss on his forehead each time. 

Two episodes in, and Sam’s still combing his hair - far passed the point of detangling and on to revelling in how Bucky makes little sighs and curls his toes every few moments. He moves his hands from Bucky’s hair down the side of his face to his shoulders, drinking in every point of contact between them. He lightens up to his fingertips - just barely gliding over hair when they drift down Bucky’s arms. Sam delights at the goosebumps that spread, some quiet voice telling him he’s lucky to be here. Bucky shivers after that, and Sam brings Bucky’s hand to his lips. 

Keys at the front door behind the couch means Clint is home, and it’s way later than Sam thought it was. The two of them have done absolutely nothing all day, but he really can’t find a single thing wrong with that. He presses a kiss to the top of Bucky’s head and gathers his hair slowly into a ponytail, reluctant to keep his hands to himself unless explicitly told. 

“Can the two of you be disgusting in your own room?” Clint greets, throwing his stuff down and kicking his shoes off by the door.

“There’s food for you on the table,” Bucky offers, absently stroking Sam’s bare leg. 

“I take it back,” Clint says after making a beeline to the kitchen island and filling his mouth like he hasn’t eaten all day. “Will you adopt me?”

“If you take the heat for all the poptarts we ate,” Bucky suggests, eyes closed.

Clint plops down on the ground, leaning against the couch by their feet and digs into his food with fervor. “Yeah, if you two are my dads, then you can blame me for a few missing poptarts.”

Clint watches the rest of the episode with them, finishing his food and catching up on everyone’s day. He’s yawning long before he finally calls it a night.

“Thanks for the food. Best roommates ever,” he says as he gets up and heads into his room.

The door barely clicks closed before Bucky starts to get up, “Fuck, I thought he’d never leave.” Sam raises an eyebrow at him, and Bucky’s eyes go dark, smirking. 

“You touchin’ me like that expecting me _not_ to suck your dick?”

And yeah, he’s high, but Bucky talking dirty always works Sam up. He won’t apologize for the halted breath and the shudder that rushes through him at the words. Bucky laces their fingers together and pulls him to their room, and Sam’s face opens into the same dopey smile he’s been wearing all afternoon.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading<3 comments/kudos/suggestions/rambling greatly appreciated! i have so many drafts, this is the first thing i've ever published, ever. So, thanks!


End file.
